Frosting Words
by xerxia31
Summary: A canon-divergent in-Panem AU. This would have happened anyway.
Originally written for and posted on Tumblr. A canon-divergent in Panem AU.

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Every Saturday.

Like clockwork, every Saturday Primrose Everdeen would show up just after lunchtime to peer into the cake display window. And every time she'd be accompanied by her bored-looking older sister. It didn't matter that Prim was 14 now, certainly old enough to wander around town without her big sister as escort. They always came together.

And Peeta had been watching them, every Saturday for years.

Truthfully, he was watching Katniss. Oh Prim was adorable, it's true, and her sweet little face would light up when she caught sight of whatever new creations he'd set out that morning. But surly, scowling Katniss Everdeen was the one who he watched. He'd been watching her for 13 long years, and in all of that time he'd never said a single word to her. Never once in class, never once in the market or around town, never even when she came to trade at the back door of the bakery.

It was infuriating. He had no shortage of friends, could charm teachers and customers alike with his silver tongue, but he could not work up the courage to speak to the girl he'd had a crush on since before he even knew what a crush was.

And he was running out of time.

Their final reaping was just a week away. Assuming they both survived, he was sure Gale Hawthorne would ask Katniss to marry him, maybe even on reaping day. Gale and Katniss had been inseparable for years, since not long after her father died, and it just seemed inevitable that they would end up together, two kids from the Seam, strong and proud and so very alike.

He had to find a way to speak to her before that happened. To tell her that he thought she was magnificent, that he admired her strength and her fire. That she was beautiful, more radiant than the sun.

But the days passed by, and while he continued to stare at her in their shared classes he couldn't think of anything to speak to her about, no way to break the ice.

Early Friday morning Katniss came to the back door of the bakery with a pair of fat squirrels to trade, like usual. And, like usual, Peeta snuck what he hoped were surreptitious glances at her while she bartered with his father. But then she lifted her liquid mercury eyes to his, and for once he didn't look away. And she smiled.

Katniss Everdeen smiled at him.

She was gone before he could react and he almost couldn't believe it had happened. But the look his father was giving him convinced him it had been real.

The idea came to him in history class. Katniss sat one row ahead and one row to the right of him in their daily dose of Capitol propaganda. She always spent the class looking out the window. He always spent the class looking at her, and often sketching her in the margins of his notebook. When the bell rang he realized that he'd filled the page with coils of braids, stacked upon each other. Stacked almost like a cake.

Lunchtime found him in the library, a place he'd admittedly avoided most of his school career, and it took him nearly the entire hour to track down what he was looking for. _Botanica Panem, the Illustrated Guide_ .

Fridays from right after school until deep into the evening Peeta worked on cakes. He'd been decorating cakes for years, his artistry and clever hands far better suited to the delicate work of sculpting gum paste flowers than those of his brothers. When his oldest brother, Brann, left the bakery a couple of years ago to start working at the Justice Building, Peeta became the only Mellark who decorated cakes. His father gave him free reign to do as he wished with the cakes, there had never once been a customer complaint and nearly every one sold.

His father baked the cakes during the day and left them on Peeta's prep table. By the time he got home from school they were cooled and ready to frost. A summer Friday so close to the Reaping would generally mean 4 cakes waiting for Peeta, but this time there were five. Perfect.

He quickly put together the first four, covered them with roses and violets and butterflies, knowing that those were the embellishments that merchant girls loved and begged their fathers to buy. The fifth though, it was going to be different. It was going to be special.

He'd spent all afternoon with _Botanica_ , instead of his textbooks. Sketching different angles of three-petalled flowers and arrow-shaped leaves instead of writing out math equations. Now he set about recreating them in gum paste and fondant. They had to be perfect, it was his last chance. The Reaping was Sunday.

It was painstaking work, and he was at it well past sundown, frosting by lamplight in the dim kitchen. He had just added the last piece when his father appeared, and let out a low whistle.

At first glance it was deceptively plain, an all-white cake. But looking more closely, it was encircled by braids of white fondant interwoven with delicate white Katniss blossoms. The bold arrow leaves were also done in white, and dainty sugar pearls were scattered in between. The more closely you looked, the more complex the design revealed itself to be.

It was stunning. Next to the garish purples and pinks of the other cakes it seemed to recede into the background, but once you really looked it was clearly the most beautiful by far.

After a few moments of stunned silence his father cleared his throat. "That'd make a fine toasting cake for a special lady." Peeta only nodded.

He was a bundle of nerves when he took the cakes out of the cooler and arranged them in the display case. It was a busy morning though, with the Reaping the next day people needed to pick up two days worth of bread. Before Mrs. Mellark's death a year and a half earlier the bakery stayed open for a half day on Reaping day, but Peeta's father was a much more sensitive soul who preferred to remain closed.

It was busy enough that Peeta almost missed her.

He'd just finished bagging up an order for the florist's son when his eyes drifted to the display window. It was her hand that caught his attention. His mother used to erupt when people touched the window glass, even though keeping it clean was near impossible anyway with the coal dust that continually blanketed the district.

He'd never seen Katniss touch the window before, in fact he'd often observed her chiding Prim against getting too close, lest her nose rub against the glass in her enthusiasm to see all of the cake details.

But Prim was keeping her distance from the glass, standing just behind her sister, looking over her shoulder. Katniss, though, Katniss had one hand on the display window and the other clamped over her own mouth. Her eyes were wide as saucers. Even from where he stood beside the register he could tell she was looking at her cake. HER cake, because of course everything about it was designed with HER in mind. Braids and Katniss flowers, and all in pure white. The cake was a love song, sung only for her.

She looked up then, and like the day before their eyes locked. Time stood still for Peeta as he waited for her reaction. It felt like an eternity that they stood on opposite sides of the glass, gazes locked.

Her hand lifted off the glass and she pointed at herself in question. He nodded slowly, unblinking.

Then a customer moved in front of him, calling for his attention, snapping the bond.

When he was able to look again she was gone. He moved her cake back to the cooler anyway, just in case, but she didn't return.

Reaping day dawned bright and cloudless, with the promise of a hot, sultry day. Peeta spent a quiet morning with his father and middle brother, who was apprenticed to the town cabinetmaker and betrothed to the cabinetmaker's pretty blonde daughter. Peeta only had 7 slips in the bowl, he was as safe as any 18 year old could be, but his stomach was in knots worrying about Katniss. He knew she had 28 slips, she'd been taking tesserae since her father died, and he was terrified for her. There were kids with more slips to be sure, but 28 was a lot.

The unsettled feeling continued as he checked in and joined the other 18 year old boys in the pen closest to the front, on the right. He was chatting with his friends but glancing periodically at the girls' side.

She showed up about 5 minutes before 2, holding hands with Madge Undersee, the mayor's daughter, in the pen for 18 year old girls. He was so used to seeing her in tunics and trousers that the blue dress she wore only on Reaping day was surprising, but he thought she was beautiful in anything.

As he watched, she craned her neck to search through the boys' holding area and he held his breath. Was she looking for him? Then their eyes met for the third time in three days. He tentatively lifted a hand in greeting and that beautiful, elusive smile painted her features again. He held her gaze as long as he could, until the crowd filled in and he could only catch glimpses of her glossy black braid.

He felt like he'd held his breath the entire Reaping, only releasing it when both tributes were standing on the stage. And while he was generally a gentle soul who felt badly for the children chosen, this year all he felt was relief. Katniss was safe. Forever.

He was enveloped in strong arms before he could seek her out, his father hugging him hard, joined almost right away by his two brothers and his eldest brother's wife. He allowed himself to be buoyed by their congratulations, surrounded by their love. There was a time, not too long ago, when he was certain that no one needed him, but they'd all grown so much closer since his mother's death.

After much hugging and backslapping his little family split, with promises to meet again later for a celebratory dinner. Brann and his wife headed home, Rye went to check in with his girlfriend and her family. Peeta's father went to the Justice building, to bring cookies to the condemned children, leaving Peeta alone in the square.

The crowd dissipated quickly, only a handful of stragglers remained. Katniss was nowhere to be seen. He wanted so very much to run down the path towards the Seam, to seek her out, but he just couldn't. Instead he headed towards to bakery. Alone.

He almost missed it, he was so distracted feeling sorry for himself that he nearly crushed it under his foot. There, laying on the back step of the bakery, was a little bundle of flowers, tied with a faded bit of ribbon. A posy. An ancient lovers gift.

But this wasn't any posy. His hours with _Botanica_ ensured that he knew the stalks of three-petalled white flowers, even though it was the first time he'd ever actually seen them.

Katniss flowers.

There was no doubt that she'd left them, there were none growing anywhere inside the district fence, and none of the vapid little town girls would ever care about the tiny, quirky white blooms clustered on sturdy stems.

When he stooped to pick them up he found a scrap of paper underneath, weighted by the flowers against the summer breeze. His heart pounded as he unfolded it. Written in cramped cursive was a single sentence, 'Meet me here at midnight.' It was unsigned.

Katniss wanted to speak to him.

He wasn't sure why, though he imagined she wanted to ask him about the cake. What other reason could there be? He only hoped she wasn't angry with him. Or, oh God, what if she wanted it for her toasting with Gale Hawthorne?

He was a mess all through dinner, barely listening to his family, grunting single word answers when they asked about his plans now that his future was calm. His future was far from calm he wanted to scream at them. He was finally going to speak with the girl of his dreams, the girl he'd been pining after for years. Tonight!

Midnight is awfully late for a baker who rises at 3:30am to stoke the ovens, and he knew it would make sense to go to sleep and set an alarm to wake him but he couldn't. Not only because he just wouldn't risk sleeping through the alarm and missing what might be his only chance, but also because he was strung tight as a wire with nerves. He had wanted to talk to her for the past thirteen years and had never screwed together enough courage to even say hello. Even that awful day when he'd thrown burned bread to her while she huddled under the apple tree, so close to death that just the memory brought terror to his heart, even that day he hadn't said a word.

He was a coward.

Would he find the courage to speak to her if she showed up? Would she show up at all?

He crept down to the bakery just after 11, worried that his pacing would disturb his father, who also needed to rise before 4. The electricity was out, which was no surprise, the Capitol ensured there was plenty of power for the cameras to record the Reaping, but once the train pulled away lonely little District 12 was plunged back into darkness. No matter, the moon was nearly full and the bakery faintly glowed in the silver light that streamed through the windows, giving a vaguely surreal aura to his surroundings.

He stepped out the back door, into the moonlight. The heat of the day had dissipated, but the late June night was balmy, the air still, only the faint cries of crickets and peepers split the silence of the sleepy district.

"You're early." He nearly jumped out of his skin as her voice floated on the night air. Then he did jump as she leapt down from one of the sturdy branches of the apple tree and landed in front of him, delicate as a cat

"Katniss," he gasped, cringing at the breathiness of his voice. He'd said her name a thousand times before, in the mirror practising what he'd say to get if he ever had a chance, in his bed under the cover of darkness, and it gave him a thrill every time. The name was as unique and beautiful as its bearer, who stood in front of him, silver eyes sparkling in the moonlight.

"Until yesterday I wasn't certain you knew my name," she said softly and his jaw dropped. His first inclination was to make a joke, being self-deprecating was his nature, but the girl of his dreams was standing in front of him and it was his last chance. He took a step closer, and then another, closer than they'd ever been before, so close that he could touch her if he just lifted his hand. She held her ground.

"Of course I know your name." His eyes were huge with shock, surely she'd noticed the way he had always stared at her. "I haven't been able to take my eyes off you for years."

She regarded him with confusion, her lush lower lip trapped between teeth that glowed in the moonlight. "And you decorated a cake with my namesake flowers because…" she prompted.

He swallowed hard. "I've wanted to talk to you forever."

"You made a special cake just so that I'd come talk to you?" He nodded, watching her intently. When her face twisted into the scowl that was practically her trademark it wasn't exactly the response he was hoping for. "I come to the bakery every week, Peeta. I've been doing it for years. You could have said hello any time." She looked down at her feet. "Surely that would have been easier."

He laughed, and her head snapped up to regard him. "I guess I've never done things the easy way." A little smile played on her lips at his words. It gave him the courage to continue. "I.. I noticed you on the first day of school. And when you sang the Valley Song in music assembly that day... I was a goner." Her eyebrows shot up at his words, her expression one of disbelief.

He crept closer still, until she had to tilt her face upward to look at him. The moonlight played across her face, making the smooth olive skin glow, lighting her eyes on fire. "I haven't stopped noticing you since. And for the past thirteen years I've tried to work up the nerve to talk to you."

"Why now then?"

He swallowed hard. "I… I thought it might be my last chance. School is done, now that the Reaping is over." She nodded.

"But I'll still be here, to trade…" Her voice trailed off, and he knew she'd guessed he was holding something back.

"I thought Gale would ask you to marry him today, after the Reaping," he admitted quietly.

"He did." How could two words hold such a world of pain? His heart felt like it had seized in his chest. He was too late. He was finally talking to her, and it was too late.

"Congratulations," he said dully, and she snorted, an amused little sound so at odds with the ache in his soul his mouth dropped open.

"I said no. Gale is my best friend, that's all. I don't think of him that way."

Peeta looked up at her with confusion. "Does he know that?" At that she laughed, and it was so musical he nearly forgot his pain. He couldn't remember ever hearing her laugh. He wanted to hear it again and again.

"He does, yes. I think…" she trailed off, worrying that soft peach lip again and his eyes were drawn to her mouth. "It was expected, I think, that he'd ask me. It's what his mother wants. Mine too, maybe. But it isn't really what he wants." She inched even closer, so close that he could see the freckles that dotted her nose, the wisps of hair curling around her ears that his fingers itched to tame.

"He's a good friend, Peeta. A good partner. And maybe, maybe before that would have been enough."

"Before what?" he whispered, his lips so close to hers that he could think of nothing but how much he wanted to kiss her.

"Before I saw your cake." His confusion was written on his face, but when she raised a hand to smooth the worry line between his brows it was replaced by an expression of utter awe. "Before I realized that the boy I like might like me back."

He caught her hand in his own. "Katniss," he said, and it was a question. A plea. She smiled then, dazzling and bright.

"I've noticed you too, Peeta. You're a baker. You're a painter. You never take sugar in your tea. And your bedroom window is always open."

And then he kissed her. Her squeak of surprise morphed into a sigh. One hand cradled her face, the other wrapped around her waist, pulling her in, pressing them together. When her fingers twisted in his curls it was his turn to whimper.

When they finally broke apart they were both grinning shyly. "Katniss, can I, I mean, I'd like to, uh, if you'll allow it…" he was flustered, but she merely smiled, amused.

"Dinner. My house. Tomorrow. You have to meet my family, properly. Bring your father too." Then with one last peck on his lips she darted off down the alley behind the bakery, leaving Peeta dazed, wondering if it was real.

She stopped suddenly, glancing over her shoulder. "Hey, Peeta?" she called.

"Yeah?" He called back, absolutely uncaring of the fact that it was nearly midnight and he'd be disturbing his neighbours.

"Bring dessert." She winked at him, and then she was gone.

He knew exactly what he would bring.


End file.
